The Way Down
by England-sama
Summary: In the year 20XX, the newly reestablished Confederate army declaired war on their northern brothers, and England gets caught in the middle. USxUK ConF r edxUK with other pairings later maybe
1. Chapter 1

Arthur could practically feel the tension in the room, the moment he walked in. His heart pounded in this chest, but from slight fear or the fact that he'd woken up late and had had to run to the meeting room, he wasn't sure.

The tension was unlike anything Arthur had ever felt before, even in all his years of coming to these G8 meetings. Though, that wasn't really saying much, in his opinion, as these meetings were still relatively new…

Taking a deep breath in through his nose, Arthur straightened his posture and smoothed out the bottom of his suit with a slightly sweaty hand. "Pardon my tardiness." He said, gathering up the courage to walk into the room.

"Just have a seat." Ludwig commanded softly, not wanting to break the tension in the air, and motioned to the two remaining seats.

Arthur followed Ludwig's command and made his way to his seat. The silence in the room was deafening, and Arthur briefly wondered how the more childish nations were able to stand it. Sitting down, and setting his briefcase on the ground beside him, he chanced a look around.

Everyone was on edge, and even Feliciano seemed to feel the tension, for once, in the air. He was currently trying to hide behind Ludwig, and looked as if he could burst into tears at any moment.

The German cleared his throat loudly, causing Feliciano and several other nations to jump. "Well, now that every ones here, let's begin." He stated calmly, sky blue eyes gazing at the nations around him.

Arthur bit his lip and glanced at the empty seat next to his. Actually every one wasn't here… _He_ was missing. And his absence was noticed by everyone in the room, but they all, like him, knew very well that _he_ more than likely wouldn't come to these meetings for a while.

After all America was now entering his second civil war…

A chill ran down the Brits spine when he remembered Alfred's first civil war, while he had remained neutral in the first war, he had seen the effect it had on his former colony.

The teen had almost gone insane, both from the intense bloodshed of his people, and from the Confederacy himself.

His name had been Fred, Arthur remembered that much. Well that and that the man might as well be insanity personified.

Arthur forced his attention back on Ludwig. The meeting had been issued to see if any of the other nations should join in or not.

"This war between the Union and the Confederacy had major potential for starting another World War." Ludwig stated heavily. "My boss and I have decided that we will remain neutral… I urge you all to do the same."

"_Tornillo que_! (Screw that)" Mexico screeched, and shot up out of his chair. "I don't care about the rest of you, but I'm siding with the South! Fred promised me California, Arizona, and Texas back! There's no way I'm passing up that offer!"

Arthur scoffed and rolled his emerald eyes. "You really believe that he would just _give_ them to you, Carlos?"

Carlos glared at him, green eyes, the same colour as Antonio's, narrowed and filled with resentment. "He will give them back!" He stated childishly, and slammed his fist on the table. "Or he'll have another war to worry about!"

"F-for now… I'm going to remain neutral… b-but if Al asked me t-to join him, I don't think I'd really have much of a choice…" Matthew spoke up softly, from beside the angry Mexican. Carlos blinked and stared down at him in surprise.

"W-wha – But you can't-"

"Enough! Stop your bickering!" Germany yelled, and Mexico sat down quickly, facing away from a guilty-looking Canada, with an angry pout. "We can't afford to waste any more time than we already have on this issue. We have relied too heavily on the States, and all of our economies have been depleting rapidly due to this dependence. If any of you enters this war, there is no telling if you'll see it out to the end."

Arthur recognized the thinly veiled warning. '_If you join, you might not be alive at the end of it.'_ And it was true, every nation was heading towards a financial crisis. or already in one...

The North and South American territories had temporarily stopped all exported goods from being shipped, two months or so ago, when the split first started.

A voice hummed thoughtfully, and rather loudly, and all eyes shifted over. Ivan sat with a faux thoughtful look, and an equally plastic smile on his face. "I believe I'll give my support to the North."

Russia was among the very few nations not badly affected by the lose of their American imports. "What is your opinion in this matter, England?" Arthur looked up and met Ivan's challenging stare. "Are you going with the North or South?"

Truthfully, Arthur had been wondering about that himself. He didn't agree at all with the Confederacy, though their goal was no longer as it was in the first war, and he had certain... _attachments_ to Alfred.... But to Alfred's boss, however... Arthur just couldn't bring himself to thrust that man.... "I'll do what i did in his last civil war." He calmly answered, never breaking eye contact with Ivan.

"Oh? Sit back and hope they kill each other?" Ivan taunted.

Arthur glared and gritted his teeth. Ivan's old views about his uninvolvement in Americas war, were starting to resurface again it seemed. "No," he snapped, trying to stifle the anger swimming in his chest. "I'm going to stay neutral." '_for as long as I can'_ he finished silently. He couldn't help but think that he would somehow end up getting pulled into this war...


	2. Chapter 2

America sat down with a tired sigh, and ran a hand through his hair. It'd already been two weeks since the start of the war, and he was starting to feel the effects of it.

He'd woken up sore and drained, despite not having really participating in any of the battles. Its not as if he hadn't tried to fight, after all it was his countrymen that were fighting each other, but no matter how many times he'd suit up and try to sneak off to the battle sight George's men were there to stop him. Apparently it was no longer acceptable for him to join in battles.

Al growled softly, his mood turning sour. If Fred got to lead his men, why couldn't he damn it? It just wasn't fair…

"Mr. Jones?" A female voice came through the door, with a soft knock.

Alfred perked up and looked towards the door with a grin. "Come in!" he called, sitting up straight in his chair, and subconsciously make sure he didn't look like a mess.

The door opened and the female stepped into the room. She was a bit short for her age, but very well endowed. She had an hour glass figure, with soft light brown hair and blue grey eyes. Alfred had had his eye on her the first time he'd seen her.

It'd been forever since he'd fooled around with anyone, and even longer since he'd actually had a serious relationship. And while being in the middle of a war probably wasn't the best time to start any relationship, there wasn't a rule against it.

"Good afternoon Linda." He greeted with a flirty grin. "Good to see you again. Don't you look lovely today?"

She nodded lightly, and kept her face professional, ignoring his slight attempt at flattery. "The president wishes for you to return to the white house, sir."

Alfred's smile slipped, and he sighed. He was starting to get a bit frustrated at his boss. None of his other bosses had ever kept such a close eye on him, but every time Alfred had tried to convince his boss to give him more freedom the man always replied with 'times have changed'. He didn't need to be sheltered for god's sake! He was a hero! And besides he'd had enough 'sheltering' growing up under the care of England, and that was enough 'sheltering' to last him a lifetime.

"Did he say why he needed me?" Alfred questioned, wondering what the presidents excuse would be now.

Linda moved some hair out of her face and breathed in deeply before answering. "Russia wants to give us their support." She explained. "Mr. President needs you back so that you can sign the pact."

Alfred blinked. Ivan was helping him? Oh god… _well it could be worse, I guess… I could be getting help from Belarus…_He thought, trying to repress a shudder. "I… I don't think we should be involving the other… the other countries…" He made sure not to say 'others'. Only certain people were allowed to know what he was, and while Linda was a promotion or two away from learning why he was so important, for now she'd just have to keep guessing.

"That's the presidents decision Jones." She reminded him. "Now get ready, you're to be at the white house in an hour." With that she turned around and left the room.

America sighed and stood up out of his chair. Actually, he'd rather take Belarus over Russia because she was only insane around her brother. And while he supposed he was a bit flattered that anyone would want to help him this time, he really didn't want anyone to be getting involved with this.

He'd beaten Fred once on his own, who's to say he couldn't do it again?

* * *

England lounged in the water, enjoying the feeling of being weightless. He'd always loved water, and it was one of the many reasons he'd become a pirate all those years ago.

A small smile graced his lips. He'd always been told that living in the past wasn't a good thing, but sometimes he just couldn't help it. His pirate and punk days had just been something that he'd always cherish and wish he could go back too.

For a brief moment he wondered if he was only happy when he was rebelling against his monarchs…

He chuckled lightly and dunked down in the water, wetting his sandy blond hair, turning it dark. Not that anyone could see the change. He was alone and it was well past midnight.

He didn't usually go swimming with others anyway. The last time he'd gone with anyone it had been with America, Russia, France and China and that had been in the late 20th century. And let's just say that that hadn't been the best experience he'd ever had.

He shook his head and wiped the chlorine filled water off of his eyes and opened them.

And jumped when his phone started going off.

_You tell me who could make it last forever, forever._

_Destiny couldn't seal our fates together_.

_There's a time for anger, _

'_Cause I still bleed from your last kiss_

_The war is over._

_And all I need from you is this,_

_The hardest thing for you to give,_

_Your forgiveness _

Arthur frowned and swam over to the edge to where his clothes were, and dug his phone out of his pocket. Sure enough it was his boss calling him, and it had to be something important if he was to be calling him at this hour.

He pressed the TALK button on his phone and held the device to his ear. "'Ello?" He answered, and picked him self up out of the pool and grabbed the small towel that he'd brought with him off of the ground.

"Good evening Mr. Kirkland. I'm sorry to be calling at such an ungodly 'our I didn't wake you did I?" The prim minister asked good naturedly.

Arthur smiled slightly, and began toweling himself off. "Oh no, I just got out of the shower." Figuring himself to be dry enough he kicked off his swimming trunks and grabbed his pants. Usually he would have never thought of changing outside in this day and age, but if anything urgent was going on he'd more than likely have to sprint to the office. "Is there a reason you're calling me this late Mr. Smith?" he asked, balancing the between his ear and his shoulder as he zipped up his pants.

Mr. Smith let out a sigh and England imagined the man was rubbing his face tiredly. "Yes actually… There – there is a reason I called." He paused, and Arthur shuddered a chill running down his spine . "The confederates want to form an alliance with us."

* * *

Yay... finally done with the second chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur was out of breath by the time he reached the office. He'd run from the pool all the way here. The smartest thing would have been to grab his car, but that was in the opposite direction and he needed to get there as fast as he could

Bending over he placed his hands on his knees and took in a deep breath trying to catch it back.

Running a hand through his still semi-damp hair he straightened up and walked into the building. The fluorescent lights a stark contrast to the darkness outside.

Arthur quickly made his way over to the elevators and pressed the up button and waited for it.

Why would Fred suddenly decide to form an alliance with the British Empire? It made no sense to him, after all, Arthur had made it quite clear the last time that there was no way he would ever join that mans army. So why did Fred think that his answer would change in this war?

The elevator dinged, bringing Arthur out of his thoughts.

'Oh well.' He thought, he'd just have to make sure to emphasize that there was absolutely no way he'd join forces with that man.

Especially not against America…

He walked into the Elevator, just barely getting in before the doors closed. He rode all the way to the top floor and stepped into his boss's office. Well technically his boss was the queen but most war alliances were left up to the prim minister to make these days (With the queens consent after words of course).

The minister stood up when Arthur stepped into his room. "Thank you for coming at such an hour, Mr. Kirkland." He said, holding a hand out to shake hands with the man centuries older than he, but who looked much younger.

"It's no problem." He answered, moving over to the mahogany desk and took Mr. Smith's hand. He wasn't as tired as he should be (after all it was four in the morning and he'd been up since six the morning before) but he just couldn't sleep, even if he wanted too…

Smith motioned for Arthur to sit down, and Arthur took up the offer.

"If you don't mind I'd like to get right to business." Mr. Smith said, leaning forward his hands crossed in front of him on the table.

Arthur nodded in understanding. He didn't feel like beating around the bush either. "Yes sir. You said that the confederates want to form an alliance with us?"

The prim minister nodded. "Yes, and I must say that I'm a bit surprised that they would turn to us of all nations. It's a known fact that we've been in a recession far longer than most other countries. We do not have the financial stability to be in a war, and I'm positive that their leader knows this…" He trailed off.

Arthur frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. Even if Fred had just recently came back into existence, Arthur couldn't imagine him not being aware of other countries finances. Fred was nothing like Alfred. The man actually planned things out, it had been a miracle that the Union had actually won in the first place. But the lack of resources, supplies, and people weren't an issue for the Confederacies anymore.

Alfred might not win this war… but that wasn't any of England's concern anymore. If that bastard didn't make it ou alive it was his own damn fault. It's not as if Arthur cared about what happened to him, he'd stopped that a long time ago.

Or so he kept telling himself…

"I wanted to know your ideas about this before I made my decision." Mr. Smith said, breaking the silence in the room. "After all your opinion is much more valuable to the queen than mine is." There was no bitterness in his voice, he'd long since come to understand why the man before him was so important.

England stayed quiet, not really sure how to respond to that statement. Sure he was used to prim ministers being jealous that sometimes his words counted a bit more than theirs. But really in most cases people didn't care what he had to say about things. Only the royal family and the prim ministers knew about who he really was, and every one else was left in the dark about such matters. It was harder for most ministers to accept that not only was he a country personified, but that he was many years older than he looked; many years older than they themselves were.

"I don't think we should involve ourselves in this war. It is America's fault for being in it in the first place. It's high time he learned to take care of his mistakes himself." Arthur responded, rather harshly. "And it's as you said, we've been in a recession for a long time now." He still got sick sometimes, thankfully it wasn't anything full out like a fever; most of the time he just felt sick to his stomach. "To offer our services to either side would be unwise."

The minister nodded. "Alright. I will take your opinion into consideration. I want I need you to be at the palace by noon tomorrow. I will be presenting my decision to the queen, and I would like you to be there."

Arthur nodded, and stood up, taking notice of the dismissal in Smith's voice. "Alright I'll be there. Have a good evening sir."

"You too, Mr. Kirkland."

* * *

A heavyset man sat behind a desk with his head in his hands. He felt terrible about what he was doing but it had to be done… for the sake the sake of his country he had to do it.

He frowned deeper at the irony.

Leaning forward he grabbed the phone off of the desk took out a folded piece of paper. He quickly dialed the number on the paper and waited of the man to answer.

"Why hello. I though you'd be calling soon." The voice on the other line was arrogant, and the plump man could hear the smirk in his tone. "He just left my office I suppose you'll be taking it from there?" Yup! He'll be off your hand and our of your hair in no time!" his thick southern American accent grated on the mans nerves. "So which entrance can I expect his holiness to come out of?"

"The front. However, I'm sure that if he feels like he's being watched he'll take another way home than the way he came."

There was silence for a moment before the man answered again. "You didn't let anything… slip did you…?" his voice was cold and it sent a chill down the fat mans spine.

"No, o-of course I didn't!" he responded nervously beginning to sweat slightly. He might not have been alive that last time this guy was, but he'd heard plenty of stories about him to be very afraid.

The man hummed. "I suppose it wouldn't matter if you did tell him or not…" static suddenly blared in the fat mans' ear and he winced before jumping in shock when the ceiling in front of him suddenly caved in.

Dust filled the room and the man coughed, dropping the phone and covered his mouth and nose. He squinted into the dust, eyes stinging in irritation only for them to widen in shock and terror.

In front of him, in the midst of all the dust, was a tall thin man. He was dressed all in black, and even through the dust the stout man could see cold ice blue eyes staring at him above a black bandana that was covering his mouth. A hand was placed on his ear holding a small cell phone, and when the heavy man glanced down, a black pistol, topped with a silencer, rested in the other.

The man swallowed and backed up against the wall.

Most of the dust had settled down and the tall man tugged the bandana off to reveal a cold smirk. He opened his mouth and began to speak into the phone.

"I don't suppose it matters weather you told him or not." He lifted up the pistol and aimed it at the man's heart. "I was going to kill you after words anyway."

"N-no please! My fam-." Pain erupted in his chest and he felt himself falling backwards before he succumbed to darkness. The tall man watched him fall and chuckled slightly. Pushing the end button, he quickly dialed another number. "hey fatty said that our prey might take another route home."

"Roger, we already have him in our sites. It shouldn't be long before we have him."

"Good. When you've got him head back to the plane, I should be waiting there." He hung up before the man could reply and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

He glanced over at the fat man on the ground, before walking over to him minding to step around the blood. It didn't really matter if he left footprints. After all he'd be out of the country before they'd even find the minister dead. He just didn't want to dirty his shoes.

Crouching down, he felt for the mans' pulse. A small thump was felt against his fingers.

He tsked and shook his head. "You've got some rotten luck there dude," he stood up and fired another round into the mans head. "Sorry man but I'm sure you'll be nice and comfortable in hell." He laughed slightly before he glanced at the papers on the desk.

_The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland declares itself neutral in the affairs of America. It will not support, or supply, either the Union nor the Conferderates._

The document was sighed at the bottom by J. A. Smith with the date and time next to it. Underneath it were two more places for signatures. One of the Queen, and the other one for Arthur Kirkland.

The man smirked and picked up the pen beside the document. He quickly forged the signature and signed the date and time.

Now the first step of his plan was complete now all he needed now was his men to pull through for him.

* * *

**well i suddenly had inspiration for this on Saturday morning and i could only just now update it DX hope you liked it... and review please... :(**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey look I finally uploaded something on this... actually i already had this written out, and it just took me forever to write it out -_-' sorry. anyway, hope you enjoy this**

* * *

Alfred stood in front of a large oak door, inspecting the patters in the wood with interest. He'd been in front of this door many time to know that the pattern, in a strange way, reminded him of water.

He wondered briefly if he should knock or just go in. After all George was expecting him… And it wasn't as if he knocked to begin with… But George did have that weird look of exasperation that England sometimes gets whenever he did that…

He decided that he really didn't care and opened the door quickly. Knocking was too overrated anyway.

"Hey George!" He shouted, trademark grin on his face. "What'd ya want me for?"

George glanced up from his desk, face worn and let out a sigh. "Please shut the door and have a seat America." He said, motioning to the door than to the chairs in front of his desk.

America nodded and pushed the door shut and plopped down in one of the leather chairs. "Soo… Linda said Russia agreed to help us…?" he asked, brushing his bangs away from his eyes and resisting the urge to set his feet atop the president's desk.

George nodded slightly. "Yes, the Russians have been so kind as to offer supplies. They have also agreed to send us solders if we are in need of those as well."

"That's nice… Listen George, I don't think that we should be asking the others for help…" He confessed. While it was true that he was trying to get out of being an ally with the Russian, he was also being true in the fact he didn't want anyone to get hurt because of him. He was the hero! What kind of hero lets his friends get hurt?

George was silent for a while, before he finally spoke up. "Alfred… we're trying to win a war here. Our enemy had inquired help from Japan, The Nordics, China, and…" he paused. "And England."

Alfred blinked and tilted his head to the side slightly. "Iggy…?" he asked.

George nodded. "We need someone who can back us up if any… or heaven forbid all… join the Confederates. And an alliance with Russia can help secure our chance of winning this war."

Alfred blinked again. Nothing after the mentioning of England had been caught. "But… Iggy'd never join Fred!" but there was a sinking feeling in his guy that wouldn't go away. England had never forgiven him for the Revolutionary War even after all these years. …If England ever got a chance to beat him… to get revenge… he wouldn't take it would he…?

Alfred hoped not…

"…We can't know that for sure. I recently had some… spies planted into their army, and they tell me that their leader us really interested in obtaining the support of the English. This is why we need allies Alfred…" George leaned forward, resting his clasped hands on the desk in front of him and met Alfred's gaze with a serious one. "If it makes it any easier for you… during the duration of this war, think of anyone of the Nations, who alliance themselves with the enemy to _be_ enemies. And those who alliance themselves with you as friends. As of right now, no one but _your_ allies matter. Not England, Not Japan, not anyone unless they offer you their support.

And right now Russia is trying to be your friend. I think it would be the wisest choice for you to team up with him."

Alfred bit his lip. He'd done it before…. What George was telling him to do now, that is. In every war he'd been in, even the Revolutionary War… but ever since World War I England had almost always been allied with him. Maybe that's why he was having so much trouble coming to terms that England may be his enemy now, is because he'd only ever taken that role once…. A long time ago.

"O okay… we can let Russia help us…"

He hoped that soon a letter would come from England saying he, too, was willing to help _him_ in this war and not Fred….

* * *

Arthur woke up with his head pounding in his skull. He groaned softly, afraid that if he made too much noise his head would punish him even more for the sudden noise.

He didn't remember drinking last night… but then again it was always hard for him to remember during the time he was drunk.

He moved his arms to tray and hold his head–that always seemed to work slightly for some reason–only to find that he couldn't

His eyes snapped open and he was glad that the room was dark. But even in the dark he could tell that this wasn't his room.

He frowned, and tried even harder to remember what happened last night. He remembered swimming… getting a call from Mr. Smith about the confederates… then leaving the office… the feeling of being watched made him take the shorter route home… arms catching him from behind and a foul smelling cloth was pressed over his mouth and nose. Then darkness.

…Did he seriously just get kidnapped…?

Arthur sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Who the hell would kidnap him? Very few people knew about the nations, and it wasn't like he had any money to give the kidnappers…

He squinted into the darkness of the room, trying to make out anything or anyone. There was a bed off to his right and something shiny in the far left corner, either a television or a camera he wasn't sure.

Sighing again, he shifts trying to get comfortable on the cold floor. It wasn't the first time he'd been kidnapped, though it had been a while…

He glances over at the bed again and wonders if he should try and make it over there, or if he should save his energy and strength in case they didn't feed him.

But he didn't want to be in such a shameful position if someone decided to come in..

Pride won over reason and he rolled onto his stomach, raised his back end into the air-a truly humiliation site if someone were to open the door- and brought his knees to his chest, lowering his arse back down. His head was pound ing even harder now and he took a few seconds to rest in that position. After a minute or so he slowly rose into a sitting position.

A stabbing pain flared in his skull and he clenched his teeth, willing himself not to cry out. He waited for the pain to pass, and thankfully, after a minute or two it did.

Taking a deep breath he shuffled over to the bed. He was glad that it wasn't far away or he wasn't sure that he would have made it with how had his head was swimming.

Getting himself on to the bed was a different story however… his arms were bound behind his back tightly and the bed was too high off of the ground to simply lie his torso on and swing his legs up. So he simply rested against it, wishing the irritating pulse in his head would go away.

Arthur shifted and rested the back of his head against the mattress he was leaning against. His eyes felt heavy and he could feel sleep calling to him, his body already tired from his struggle to the bed. They must have drugged him a lot if this was all that his body could take…

If he had been in handcuffs it would have been easier to slip his arms in front of him, but he was bound by thick coarse rope that was cutting into his wrists and holding them at an odd angle. Slipping through them would be difficult and required more energy than he had at the moment….

His eyes slipped closed again, he wished he hadn't been so careless as to let this happen. He wished he was home drinking a nice cup of tea, reading a good book, or listening to rock music. He also longed for _his_ bed, not some bed that was thrown together.

The bed had two box springs and four mattresses stacked together on top of it. The back of his head was resting against the side of the second mattress and while it did make a good pillow for his aching head, it didn't help the rest of his body.

His eyes finally slipped closed, and he no longer had the strength to hold them open anymore. He was asleep in mere moments.

* * *

He was forced awake by a sharp kick that connected to his side, the air being knocked out of his lungs by the sharp blow. He coughed, opening his eyes to glare at what he assumed was one of his brothers. Ignoring the burning sensation in his eyes from the bright light over his head, he forced his eyes upward and froze.

The man before him grinned. "Nice to see that you're awake, highness. I've been waiting for you all day."

Arthurs head reeled in disbelief. There was no way this man was here… it just wasn't possible. He was just seeing things!"

But he wasn't, he had never doubted the things he'd seen, and there was no way he'd be able to conjure up this man just from memory alone. The crazed, evil glint in his eyes was just too real to be imaginary.

"F-Fred?" he gasped, his eyes widened in shook.

Fred looked exactly like Alfred, even more so than Matthew did. Right down to the color and length of his hair. Their eyes were the same shade of sapphire blue, and that same stubborn flip of hair that defied gravity on a daily basis was there too.

Only Texas was missing, that and the man before him was insane.

Fred's grin widened and he crouched down to where he was closer to Arthur's shocked face. "Hey there Princess, long time no see." He ruffled Arthur's hair, earning a low growl.

Arthur jerked his head back and struggled against the rope that held him from punching the man in front of him in the face.

Fred watched him struggle, an amused smirk on his face, which only angered the British man more.

"Release me." Arthur seethed. "Now."

Fred shook his head. "Nope, no can do. I spent way too much time trying to capture you to just let you go."

"My people will never support you!"

"I do not want, nor need, your people or their support. There is only one thing that I want…" He paused, the crazed look in his eyes covered up by a serious look. "And that is you."

Arthur growled again, and spit in the mans' face. "_I will_ never _help you._"

Fred's eyes closed for a moment, as he wiped the spit off of his face. He back handed Arthur suddenly, sending his head to the side. The force of the blow knocked Arthur sideways and he was glaring up at Fred from the floor. "You can torture me all you want, but it's not going to work." He spat literally, sending flecks of blood and saliva at the man.

Fred gazed down at him, eyeing him uninterested before a cold smirk grew on his face. "Oh, but, you see, you have no choice but to join me. I've left you with no option but to."

"There is always a choice." He growled out, vaguely recalling that Alfred had once said that to him.

Fred chuckled, dryly. "How cute." He said, sarcastically. He reached forward and grabbed the older blond's hair in a tight fist.

Arthur grunted, wincing slight as his hair was pulled more harshly than the first time, the strands of ash blond almost being ripped from his head.

"Come on, Princess. Come sit up here with me." Fred said, grabbing ahold of Arthur's bicep, hard enough to leave a hand shaped bruise, and pulled him onto the bed.

He still hadn't let go of Arthurs's hair, and with yet another harsh yank, he turned Arthurs' gaze towards the side.

"I have something for you to watch. It was on the other day, but you were still asleep so I decided to record it for you. Ain't I nice?"

Fred had turned Arthur's head towards the television in the corner of the room. Grabbing the remote next to him with his free hand, he aimed the remote at the TV and clicked it on.

"You ready for this Princess? You ready to see how _this is your _only _option?"_ A chill ran down the length of Arthur's spine, not going unnoticed by clicked a button and moved to where he would be able to see every expression on Arthur's face.

Arthur was confused when the show started. It was just a local news channel in England. What was so-

"_This just in! British Prime Minister James Anderson Smith has been found murdered in his office early this morning. The minister was shot five times. Once in the heart, and four more times in the head."_

Arthur gasped. Smith… was dead?

"_Police estimate that the time of death was around five in the morning. They believe the killer is this man:" a picture appeared beside the news anchor. A picture o f a man with blond hair and startling green eyes. _

Arthur tensed.

"_Arthur Kirkland." The screen split and a video of a police officer replaced his picture. "Sir, can you tell us why this man is the suspect?" a reporter asked, speaking into the microphone than placing it in front of the officer._

"_Well, we do know that Mr. Kirkland was the last one to see Mr. Smith alive. When we were called to come out this morning, we found papers that Mr. Kirkland had signed. On them he left his name, the date, and the time. When we tried to contact Mr. Kirkland, we found that he had booked a ticket to America; his flight left two hours after the murder."_

"_Sir, do you know if there was a motive for why he would so cold heartedly kill the minister?" _

_The man shook his head. "We are unaware of that reason. We are also unaware of why Mr. Kirkland signed those documents that were meant for the Queen to sign. We have contacted the American government, and let them know that there is a killer on the loose." _

Arthur was frozen in shock, not even realizing that Fred had paused the tape.

Millions of thoughts were spinning around in his head. Smith was dead, having been shot. He was the suspected killer, and he was also on his way to was a criminal…

Fred was smirking, contently. Arthur displayed his emotions so perfectly. He had noticed it the first time he'd met the older Brit, all those years ago

His eyes, those of the color of absinth, told everything. They flashed dangerously when he was mad. They held an un-amused glint when he was being sarcastic or cynical.

Fred wanted to see all kinds of emotions in those eyes… He wanted to see how those eyes looked when he finally broke. He wanted to see Arthur crumble before him.

"So, Princess, how'd you enjoy my gift?" he asked, grinning.

* * *

**Review**


	5. Chapter 5

**yay for sudden inspiration. **

* * *

A sharp pain in his stomach woke Arthur from his sleep. He groaned groggily, and placed a hand on his stomach. Another sharp pain erupted, followed by a low grumbling noise.

He was starving, he realized, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

As soon as Fred had finished showing him the News report he had untied Arthurs hands and left the room. It had only been when a loud bang resounded through the room that Arthur even realized the man had moved. That had been a long time ago; though how long he wasn't sure, but he guessed it had to be several days.

Arthur sighed and glanced over at the door and noted the plastic bowl sitting on the ground in front of a small dog door, which he had missed earlier.

Arthur stood up and padded over to the bowl, peering down at the contents.

'Oh joy, cold spaghetti rings….' He thought sarcastically. He picked up the dish and sighed when he noticed that they hadn't given him eating utensils. He sat down on the floor, crossing his legs in front of him and leaned against the wall.

"Better than nothing, I suppose…" he grumbled to himself.

He sipped at the cold red paste and winced at the extra salty flavor. He'd never been a fan of artificial foods.

Arthur finished the bowl quickly. It hadn't filled him up in the least, but it had stopped the stabbing pain in his stomach.

Placing the bowl back on the ground he glanced at the television, and scowled.

The sadistic bastard had somehow rigged it to where none of the channels would play except for the new video.

Arthur gritted his teeth. He'd been framed, and he was one hundred percent certain that Fred had something to do with it.

Which meant that even if Arthur did manage to escape he'd have nowhere to go. He couldn't go to Alfred with the Union government searching for him. And going to Mexico would be foolish… Fred was surely an expert at leaving very few options but to follow him…

'Wait…' he though, eyebrows furrowing slightly. Wasn't there some country to the north of America? Some country everyone seemed to forget?

A loud gasp filled the room. "Canada!" Arthur exclaimed, before slapping a hand over his mouth, not wanting there to be any possibility that someone might over hear him.

He would wait for the perfect time to escape, than make his way to the North; to Canada.

Surely he would help him…

* * *

George glanced over at the Nation before him for the umpteenth time. Alfred was obviously sulking, his lips pursed with his head resting on his hand, elbow pressed into the table.

Whether America was sulking because Russia was coming or because the problems happening with England, George wasn't sure.

It had been three days since the phone call from London, warning them to be on the lookout for Arthur Kirkland, saying that his plane should be arriving in Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport in two hours.

When George had told the nation about it, he had speed out of the room and was off to the airport before George could stop him.

George frowned, remembering the state Alfred had come back in. The man had looked panicked, worry filling his sky blue eyes. He had asked the nation what had happened and was told that Alfred had gotten there in time for the plane to land, but hadn't been able to find the older man. And that, when Alfred had asked around, no one by that name had even been on the plane.

A brief knock at the door brought both men out of their thoughts.

Alfred lifted his head and dropped his hand into his lap.

"Come in," George called.

The door opened, and Linda walked in. Alfred straightened his back a little more, and George didn't miss how the nations smile turned a bit flirtatious. The president resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Sir, an Ivan Braginsky is here to see you." Linda announced pointedly ignoring Alfred.

George nodded slightly. "You may let him in."

Alfred sighed when Linda left, pout returning to his face slightly. "I try to be nice to her, but all she does is ignore me," the nation whined aloud to his boss. "I mean isn't it obvious how much I like her?"

George raised an eyebrow. "Do you like her because she reminds you of someone?" he asked curiously, before taking a sip of his coffee.

Alfred turned to look at his president confused. "Wha-?"

But before America had a chance to ask, the door opened, and the tall Russian nation walked in to the room.

"Good afternoon." George greeted, standing up. "Thank you for coming."

Ivan smiled pleasantly, sending shivers down Alfred's spine. "I am sorry that my boss couldn't make it. He had some… business to attend to." His smile widened his thick Russian accent thick with false charm.

"That's alright," George said, with a wave of his hand and motioned for the Russian to have a seat. "This meeting is only to discuss our pact. I'm sure that the three of us will be able to take care of it."

The smile faltered slightly as Ivan sat down. He tilted his head to the side slightly and locked eyes with the American president. Alfred glanced hesitantly between the two of them, feeling the intimidating air roll off of the Russian.

The smile returned, but Ivan's eyes darkened. "I had assumed that since my boss wasn't here, that it would be just American and I who would be discussing these terms." He said.

Alfred tensed, and clenched his fists under the table. Oh dear God, he did _not_ want to be in a room along with Ivan…

He glanced over at George, who looked thoughtful. Alfred quickly decided that if George was going to leave him with the Russian, than the first chance Alfred got he would run to Virginia and join the army.

"Yes, very well, I understand," George said quickly, and stood up. Alfred gaped at him. "Alfred, I trust you already know most of the things we were to discus." He didn't, and both, if not all three, men knew that. "But here are my notes in case you've forgotten something."

George passed over a small green folder to the nation and left the room.

Alfred cursed his boss under his breath, and thumbed through the folder to try not to meet the eyes of the crazed Russian.

"So…" America began, scratching the back of his head. "Let's get this thing started…"

* * *

There was a loud band on the door that startled Arthur into an upright position. He glanced at the only exit, and got to his feet and moved away.

The door swung open, crashing against the wall in the spot he'd been previously sitting in. Several men stood in the doorway, each with gruff exteriors and each with hand held guns, which were trained on his figure.

He sneered at them, but raised his hands to show that he wasn't going to do anything stupid.

A man stepped forward, and lowered his gun only slightly. He had piercing clear blue eyes that reminded Arthur strongly of Ludwig, but his hair was darker and shaved close to his head. A red bandana, sporting the confederate flag covered the lower portion of his face.

"Boss says 'e wants ta show yew 'round the base." He announced, voice muffled by the bandana, and his thick southern drawl made it hard for Arthur to understand him clearly.

"Jus' don' do nothin' and we won' 'have ta shoot ya." The man added, moving around to stand behind the Englishman. Arthur turned his head to try and follow him, not trusting him behind his back. But something cold pressed in between his shoulder blades, seeping in through his thin button up shirt; the barrel of the gun. He froze and glared at the wall before him.

"Walk." The man behind him ordered, pressing the gun deeper into Arthurs back.

Arthur squared his shoulders, back arching just enough so that the gun was no longer digging in, and began walking.

The men at the door move aside for him, staring at him suspiciously; their guns trained on him, just waiting for an excuse to fire at him.

Arthur squinted his eyes in the bright sunlight. The room had only a dim light bulb in the center of the ceiling, which flickered every now and then. It was such a stark contract that he paused briefly, only to be shoved forward by the man behind him.

He growled lightly, and stumbled slightly before he managed to catch himself before he hit the ground. The men around him snickered and jeered quietly.

Arthur ignored them in favor of looking around. His eyes widened in surprise. He was standing amongst tons of rubble, all in various shapes and shades of grey.

A once proud American city was now nothing but pieces of debris and very few structures still stood. There were no people that he could see, and everything was deadly quiet. None of the buildings stood higher than a second story house.

Arthur took in the once mighty skyscrapers and wondered which city this had once been. It wasn't New York, of that he was sure. Even in ruins he would be able to tell that city apart from any other.

"Get movin'," a voice, a little bit deeper than the man who had first talked to him, growled out. Arthur glanced down at his feet and noticed a small path that zigzagged through the remains. It led to what had once been the middle of the street than veered off.

Arthur took a step forward, than another. He picked his way slowly along the path, not familiar to the terrain. The men behind him were audibly irritated, constantly telling him to hurry up and some even gave him 'encouraging' pushes forward.

He sighed in irritation, wanting nothing more than to turn around and smash all their heads together.

"Johnson." The first man called to a man behind him. "Get in fron' of Brows 'e's 'avin' trouble."

Arthur whipped his head around and glared at the taller man. "Brows?" he growled. "My name is Arthur you twat!" he spat.

He was grabbed roughly by the front of his shirt, and was dragged towards the man. He stumbled slightly, but managed to gain his footing back, his glare not faltering in the slightest.

The man glared back, pulling down his bandana so he could speak better. "We don' use first names 'round 'ere. You're in no possession ta be demandin' we call ya _Arthur_." He spat his name as if it was something foul. "You'll be Brows till ya give us your name. An' maybe even 'fterwards."

Arthur clenched his teeth, cold fury boiling in his chest. He wanted so badly to yell, scream, punch, kick, _anything_ to this man, consequences and guns be damned. But if he ever wanted to escape, he would have to be docile.

"Kirkland." He grated out. Well as docile as he could be anyway.

The man looked him over for a moment, than burst out laughing. He released the front of Arthurs' shirt and pushed him away. Arthur stumbled again, the back of his foot connecting with a large rock. He fell backwards, a low grunt of pain escaping when his backside connected with the ground, and the back of his head against a wall of rubble. His vision swam specs of black and white dancing around, before it finally cleared.

"You gots fire in ya, Kirklan'," The man before him grinned widely, an amused glint in his eyes. "My name's Smith, and the man behin' me is Johnson. An' that's all ya need ta know fer now."

Arthur rubbed the back of his head gingerly, than inspected his hand for blood. There wasn't any.

He pushed himself back up, and dusted off the back of his shirt and pants. He remained silent as Johnson stepped around Smith, glancing Arthur over suspiciously, gun clenched in his hand. Johnson was shorter than Smith, though not by much, and certainly taller than Arthur. His hair was buzzed short like Smiths, and its color even darker. His eyes were a dark, murky hazel color.

"Follow me." he said shortly, turning away and walking with expertise through the small path. Johnson shoved Arthur forward, to get him moving.

Arthur sighed irritated. He had a feeling he was going to be pushed around a lot during his stay with these men.

* * *

They continued down the small path, walking silently. After a while Arthur had gotten the hang of it and only occasionally stumbled. Arthur guessed that they had been walking for an hour or two, since the sun was now hovering over the buildings, which were getting smaller and smaller and more spread out.

Smith jeered at him almost constantly, switching between calling him 'Kirklan'' and 'Brows'. He pushed at Arthur and prodded him with the gun when he wasn't going fast enough.

Arthur had snapped at him more than several times, earning even more pushes and some punches, leaving a particularly nasty one on his bicep. Smith was starting to remind him a lot of his brothers.

They were finally getting to the end of the city, the path had widened and the ruble was getting scarce. Johnson turned to the right and began heading towards an abandoned warehouse.

"We're here." He announced, earning a small cheer from the men.

The warehouse was untouched by the destruction that had devastated every other building around it. But the building was old and rusted, the steel doors looking as if they would crumble at the slightest touch.

Johnson stepped up to the steel door and knocked once, twice, than four more times. He paused for a moment, seeming to listen for something inside the building, than opened the door.

Arthur was pushed in first, followed closely by the other men.

"Boss, we're back!" Smith called out as Arthur looked around the room. The building was very bare, but there were men everywhere. They were crouched on the ground, playing games, or absentmindedly shining their shoes. Most had looked up when the group had entered the building.

Several men looked surprised to see Arthur, while many others were suspicious of a new arrival.

All voices hushed, and all eyes turned towards him. Arthur raised his head, refusing to show any weakness to these men.

"Boss!" Smith called again, peering towards the back of the building. "Hey," he said, turning to a man sitting on the ground beside him. "Where's the boss?"

The man stared up at him, glancing over at Arthur hesitantly before looking back at Smith. "'e's at the trainin' area. Left 'bout half an 'our 'go." He answered.

Smith sighed. "Time ta go back outside, Kirklan'," He said wrapping an arm around Arthur's shoulder and forcing him back outside. "Ya comin' Johnson?" he called over his shoulder.

"Someone has to keep you out of trouble." Johnson responded, stepping out of the building as well. "You may stay here if you wish men."

Arthur noticed that Johnson's accent wasn't thick like Smiths was, in fact it sounded almost... He shrugged Smiths arm off of him, and glanced back at Johnson.

"Where are you from?" he asked, curiously, locking eyes with the man.

Johnson looked surprised for a second, before he crossed his arms over his chest. He was silent for a while, and Arthur was starting to wonder if he would get an answer to his question.

"Go 'head an' tell 'im Johnson. It's not as if it'll 'urt ya. We'll be with 'im fer a while it seems." Smith replied, smiling at Johnson.

"I grew up in Oklahoma, but I was born in a country called Sealand." Johnson responded, than glared at him. "Now no more questions." He snapped, moving past him.

Peter. The name ran through England's head and he wondered how the small country was doing. He had been a country for almost ten years now.

'He's probably glad that I'm gone.' He though. Peter and his other brothers were probably so glad to finally be rid of him…

An arm wrapped around his shoulders again, and he was forcefully turned around. He glared up at Smith, thoroughly annoyed, only to be grinned at again. "'m from South Carolina. Ain't ever been outa the state till the war though... It's pretty excitin'." He said as they began to walk.

"Now, now, Smith, don't go bothering our guest." A voice said from behind them. Arthur tensed.

"Hey boss." Smith greeted, arm slipping off of Arthur.

Arthur turned around slowly and locked eyes with Fred.

Fred grinned, and motioned around him. "How are you enjoying the city of Memphis, Princess?"

* * *

**Yeah... sorry that i didn't really expand on Alfred and Ivan, it was my first time writting him in my story. please tell me how did i do on him so i know what all i need to work on with him.**


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